


Shrapnel and Dust

by cactuslester



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactuslester/pseuds/cactuslester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a month since Phil left and Dan still isn't over him. Shattered glass is much harder to put back together than a jigsaw puzzle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrapnel and Dust

Some say life is like a puzzle. Not everything makes sense at first, but pieces begin to fit together until you end up with a picture. Others say humans are puzzles. Every bit you see of someone is just that, just a bit. It’s so difficult to know every piece of someone.

I would say that neither life nor humans are anything like puzzles. Everything is so much more complicated than that. Puzzles are easier to put together every time you break them apart, but oh how different life is. It gets harder to put yourself back together every time you fall apart. There is a point when the pieces themselves have shattered into shrapnel and dust that slips through your fingers.

~

Dull eyes stare back at me from the mirror, set in hollow sockets. I thought I couldn't get any paler, but here I am, sallow complexion betraying the smile I try to plaster on when I pass people in the street. It’s been exactly one month since Phil left, and I haven't moved on one bit. Today would have been our five year anniversary.

Sunlight tries to make its way through the shut blinds, unnaturally bright for London weather. With no clouds in sight, I feel like the Sun is mocking me. Why can't I have rainy, gloomy, weather while I'm wallowing in bed, duvet wet with tears? Why am I forced to be reminded of the families having picnics and couples walking hand in hand, living their lives?

I drag myself out of bed and remember that today is the first Monday of October and that our radio show is still a thing. _Our_. The word bores into my mind, burning my tongue when I try to say it. _Our_ doesn’t exist anymore.

The flat is still riddled with ghosts of him, a misplaced sock, his favorite crisps in the pantry, a coffee mug left behind in the cupboard. I hate myself for noticing these things, I hate myself for noticing that my box of cereal has lasted longer than usual because he hasn’t been stealing it for 2a.m. snacks.

Out of habit, I make two mugs of coffee before realizing I don’t need to. The second shatters when it hits the floor and I can’t bring myself to clean it up. I almost welcome the idea of stepping on the shards of ceramic, just to feel anything other than empty pain.

The first thing I open on my laptop is Twitter, but I close the tab the second I see all the tweets from subscribers before they even fully load. They’ve noticed. Of course they have. They’ve known something was wrong since the liveshow from the Tuesday after Phil moved out. They’ve noticed how there haven’t been new videos or liveshows from me for a month. I know the entire fandom is holding its breath, waiting for tonight’s radio show to get a sense of what the hell’s going on. To be honest, I don’t know either.

~

Hours pass by and I dread every one that brings me closer to 7 ‘o clock. I get dressed and stand in front of the mirror, trying to make myself look presentable. But it’s hard as bloodshot eyes can’t be washed away with tears.

I call for a taxi at 6:15pm. and check my phone while I wait. I almost expect a happy anniversary text from Louise, but then I remember.

It’s 6:21p.m. and the taxi’s out front waiting for me. I pad down the stairs as the lift never works. Sliding into the backseat, I realize the driver is one we’ve had many times before.

“Radio 1?”, he asks although he already knows.

“Yeah, Radio 1.”

“So where’s that guy who’s always with you? The fella with the black hair?”

“Oh, he’s not home right now. He’s going to Radio 1 from somewhere else…”, I trail off and try to hold on to my composure, but I nearly lose it as soon as I say “home”. It’s not home anymore because Phil’s not there, but I can’t bring myself to tell the driver that he’s moved out. Maybe if I deny it long enough, I’ll wake up one morning to Phil smiling next to me.

The drive is shorter than I hoped it to be.

“Well, here we are.”

“Thanks.”, I hand him a ten pound note and take a breath before stepping out. I slam the car door shut behind me, the sound sealing my fate. The Radio 1 building looms before me, too ominous and contrasting with all the times I used to smile and remember how lucky I was to be working there.

The receptionist looks up when she hears the glass doors open and I force a smile and greet her.

“Hi Lily.”, I mumble.

“Phil’s already upstairs.”, she informs me, expression confused because like everyone else, she’s wondering why Phil isn’t right next to me as usual.

I step into the elevator, the sliding doors like jaws of death and I know I must be dramatizing everything. I doubt Phil’s this nervous. Every beep of the elevator sounds like a time bomb counting down and I can’t block it out. It’s shrill and grating, echoing in my skull. My hands are clammy and my heart rate has picked up as the lift stops at the fourth floor. _God Howell, you’re pathetic. All this anxiety just over seeing Phil?_ I argue with myself, it’s not just Phil anymore, it’s Phil Lester, the man I love who’s now my ex.

My breath hitches when I see Phil behind the glass doors of our Internet Takeover room. _Our_. Out of habit I can’t stop thinking in terms of our, _our_ home, _our_ radio show, _our_ gaming channel, but the word digs into my skin with poisoned fingertips. He sees me and stiffens, but still looks 20 times more composed than I am. _Get it together Dan._

I walk into the room Phil looks up from the keyboard. “Hey.”, he mumbles. I am caught off guard for a split second because this is the first time I’ve heard his voice for a month, and last time, he was saying “Goodbye Dan.”

“Hey.”, I reply because he’s being civil and polite and I should at least have the decency to return the favor. Well, of course he’s being civil and polite, this is Phil Lester.

The producers sense the tension but don’t mention it. “Guys, you’re on air in one minute.”

Usually, I can feel Phil’s eyes on me as he laughs at a sarcastic comment I made or a stupid joke. But today, I can only feel the absence of him, a chasm between us, and him looking anywhere but at me. I am weaker than he is. I still can’t help but look at him. I miss his blue eyes, black fringe, the way his tongue pokes out when he laughs, and it kills me. It takes every ounce of will I have to not drop to my knees and beg him to take me back and promise that I’ll do things right this time. That I won’t muck it all up. I don’t do it though because I don’t really know what I did wrong. He said he just fell out of love. But I had to have done something wrong. We’ve been together for nearly 5 years, couples like that don’t suddenly fall out of love, do they?

The show ends sooner than I expected because I’ve been on autopilot the whole time. I can’t focus when Phil’s right next to me and I’m half a step from breaking down on live radio.

My mind is just empty buzzing when I say goodbye to the producers, hop in the taxi, and unlock the door to our apartment. Wait, _my_ apartment. The thought runs barbed wire through my head.

It’s been a month but the lack of warmth next to me when I climb under the covers is still foreign. I expect a “goodnight love” before my eyes shut, but I never hear it. I probably never will again.

~

~3 months later, January 4th, 2016

“Goodbye Radio 1 listeners! This has been the very first Dan Howell show on Radio 1. You can tune in next Monday at 7p.m. for my next show. Until then, ciao!”, I pull off my headphones to see a thumbs up from the producers. Relief floods through me as I exhale. I managed my first solo radio show.

It’s been four months since Phil left. Aled noticed that Phil and I were distant during the radio show, so he offered us each our own shows. I knew that if I took the deal, I would rarely get to see Phil anymore, maybe only once every few months. But I also knew that seeing him killed a part of me every time I did, so I agreed before I could change my mind.

~

I’m not alright and I might not ever be. I’m a little better, but not much. I don’t shatter mugs every time I accidentally take two out of the cupboard, but I still notice how a box of cereal lasts longer than it used to. Passing by Phil in the Radio 1 headquarters still leaves me with an ache in my chest and tears in the corners my eyes. And the subscribers have noticed how every thumbnail for every danisnotonfire video after October 2015 is in black and white.

I lost a piece of my life, a piece of myself, when I lost Phil. There may be other things that fill the hole, but nothing will ever fit as perfectly as he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time writing angst and I thought I'd give it a shot since I love reading it. As always, honest feedback is always welcomed and helpful.


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